


Lilico Boy

by dionebacchus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Human, Dark Stiles, Drug Use, Excessive Drinking, M/M, Manager Derek, Model Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dionebacchus/pseuds/dionebacchus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Model AU. Stiles is a fashion model doing a stint in Japan, just about to fall off the edge. Derek is the manager ready to catch him as he falls. Warnings for drug use, alcohol abuse and attempted sexual manipulation. Kinda dark for Stiles. </p>
<p>Based off the movie Helter Skelter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lilico Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of a scene from the movie Helter Skelter, about a model who loses it and resorts to murder and seduction to stay at the top. Title is based off the model's name, Lilico.

The Tokyo lights slid past the window in a blur. Stiles blinked, his eyelash brushing against the glass he was pressed against. He blinked again, and wondered how drunk he was. It didn't matter though; he would sleep at the hotel, tale his pills in the morning and start the day again tomorrow. It was the same each day, but nothing set his soul on fire than to see his face on thousands of magazines, girls screaming over his eyes, his lips, his flawless skin. It was intoxicating, more than the champagne he demanded at each shoot, just to see people screaming his name, sobbing just to be a part of him. 

Everyone loved him. It was perfection. 

Tomorrow he would do it all again, wait for the make-up artists to put on the final details, then pose for a few shots, let everyone fix his hair, his clothes, a little more powder just one more time. Japan was a little different, with the entire crew watching each shoot, yelling out "Sugoi!... Ii-jya... Kirei!" at every snap of the camera. Stiles loved it. 

Speaking of tomorrow, he called out, "Hey Derek."

The man driving merely grunted. Stiles laughed, a little too loud for the dark car but it didn't matter. "What are we doing tomorrow?"

Derek was silent for a moment, then replied in his usual monotone. "You have a morning photo shoot at the Sky Tree, and then lunch with the executives from Vogue Japan. After that you'll have an interview at Tsutaya in Shibuya. Tomorrow night you have a party at the Imperial Hotel."

Stiles laughed again. "Hmm... busy busy busy. When will I have time for me?"

"You won't." Derek, if he was anything, was to the point. 

Giggling still, Stiles crawled to the front to lean against Derek's shoulder. "You should come to the party with me," he said into his ear. 

"Go back and sit down. I'm driving."

"I can see that." Stiles rubbed his hand along Derek's thigh, humming softy. "You really are gorgeous, aren't you?"

Stiles could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "You're the model here. Now shut up and sit down or I'm not going to tell you your schedule again in the morning."

"Meanie," he huffed, but did as he was told. The rest of the ride back was quiet, save for the liquid sloshing in Stiles' bottle. He wondered if it really matter if he destroyed the inside of his body, pickled it with wine and sweet sake. No one really cared what his insides looked like anyway; they only wanted his face, his hair and his skin. well, his cock too, he thought with another soft giggle. They all wanted that. 

When they got to the hotel, a tall Hyatt with waterfalls in front there was a valet to take the vehicle from Derek so he could help Stiles up to his room. Stiles grinned the whole way, snuggling into Derek's shoulder on the elevator and leaning against him as he unlocked the room. Stiles wandered in on his own though, stumbling over the bathrobe he had dropped in the morning and drifting into the bedroom. Derek usually stayed until Stiles was in bed, cleaning up the clothes thrown around the room or sometimes ordering something to eat when Stiles was really too far gone.   
It didn't matter what he did, because Stiles knew that Derek would always be there. He always had been, and the future was looking the same. 

Stiles dropped into the chair in front of the dresser, unbuttoning his shirt to look at himself. There he was, the world's most famous model, surrounded by the plush red drapes that adorned the hotel room. Stiles had thought it too girly at first, but now it was perfect, highlighting his creamy pale skin, the perfect arch to his eye brows. His eyes looked like fire with the crimson reflecting into the liquid gold, as so many articles described them. He was beautiful, and he knew it. 

"Perfect," Stiles whispered to himself, as if he hadn't heard it all day. "Perfect, and eternal. No one can have this." He ran his hands down his chest, marveling at the subtle strength there, the lithe tone that had girls in several countries begging to put their hands on him. He stroked up towards his neck, pushing the collar back so he could see that sweeping length in its entirety. 

Stiles stopped. What the hell was that? He leaned in closer to the mirror, twisting so he could see better. There, just below his collar was a bruise, heavy and dark. It wasn't a hickey; Stiles has plenty of those so he could tell the difference. This was something else, something wrong, something...

Imperfect. 

Stiles bit his lip to keep from crying out. He couldn't risk Derek finding out, seeing this and stopping everything they had planned. Stiles had seen this before, girls and boys who suddenly went wrong, like a god's blessing suddenly taking flight, left with nothing but despair and loneliness and no one to love them ever. Stiles wouldn't have that, he couldn't. 

But the proof was there, on his neck, most likely growing and spreading until his life was like one great bruise, darkness covering over every good thing he had in his life, left with nothing but Derek to keep him company and show him love. 

And who knows, maybe Derek would leave too. Stiles sank into the chair at that thought. If Stiles wasn't beautiful, if he wasn't famous, what reason would Derek have to stay? Stiles needed him to stay, needed him to fix this, like he had fixed every other problem in Stiles' life, easy as pulling a blanket over it. Derek had been there for Stiles since the beginning, and Stiles would be damned if he left now. 

As he ran his fingers gently over the bruise, Stiles listened to the man still puttering around in the living room. He was silent, like usual, but obviously keeping himself busy until Stiles collapsed into bed. Slowly, the model stood and went to the door, snagging one of his pills on the way, Swallowing, he considered the man. 

It wasn't like this would be new to Stiles. He had done it before, seduced executives into his bed and into signing contracts. This would be no different; force Derek to love him, need him and he would never leave Stiles. 

Steeling himself, Stiles walked over to the bench by the window, dropping his shirt on the way and leaning against the cool glass. He made sure that his bruised neck was facing the window as he regarded Derek. 

The man was beautiful, especially dressed in the stylish grey suit. His eyes were dark and hot, guarded like heavy smoke. Stiles could never see what he was thinking, but he had always wondered. His hands were strong and competent, but always gentle as they lead Stiles into cars, into hotels, into bed most nights. Stiles had dreamed several times of those hands, and now he was going to have them. 

"Hey," he called out. "Derek come here." 

Derek merely rolled his eyes from where he was leaning against the counter. "You should be in bed."

"I know, I know, I just..." Stiles didn't finish the sentence, just ran his hand down his chest, exaggerating the moment with a drawn out sigh. 

He wasn't looking, but he knew the moment that Derek finally looked his way, because the air in the room was suddenly something else, charged and deep, the way it always was when Stiles spent time thinking about what Derek meant to him. But this wasn't about what Stiles needed Derek for; it was about convincing Derek that he needed Stiles just as much. "Please, will you help me?" Stiles called out, looking at Derek with his perfected bedroom eyes, beckoning him with every fiber of his being. Really, Stiles could be an actor with how much emotion he put into his modeling. 

Derek huffed, teeth obviously clenched. He looked angry for some reason, but he still came closer, hovering over Stiles with those dark rage filled eyes. Stiles didn't care what kind of eyes Derek had, as long as he was looking at him. 

"Please," Stiles whispered, and it was like the breaking of a dam. Derek dropped to his knees in front of Stiles and hauled him in closer, kissing him deeply. Stiles groaned into the kiss, because really it had been too long; it was always hard to find time to fuck when he went to other countries. But this was perfect, with how hard Derek was clutching him, obviously needing him. Stiles was drunk with how much he was wanted. 

Derek pulled him closer and sank down, kissing his chest as he went. Finally he reached his pants and deftly unbuttoned them, yanking them to the floor. "Easy there," Stiles chuckled. "Those are about a thousand bucks."

Stiles could have sworn he heard a growl from Derek just before be responded, "Shut up, Stiles." He was perfectly happy to obey, just as long as Derek moved his mouth a little lower. And he did, licking gently along the light hair that lead to Stiles' now painfully hard cock. Stiles was a little shocked at how much he wanted it; he must not have been as drunk as he thought after all.   
Derek didn't waste time; instead he sank down on Stiles like he was born to please only him. Maybe he was, Stile pondered, as he sighed and moaned just to keep Derek going. Maybe he already needed him as much as he needed air, as much as Stiles needed Derek. Did they really need each other? Stiles bucked and groaned as Derek gave a clever twist with his tongue and sucked him as hard as he could. 

Stiles bucked off the bench, suddenly swimming with want and the flush that his pill gave him. He almost regretted the emptiness in his mind as he rolled back and sank into the bench, letting Derek guide him. It had been nice being so sharply aware of how much Derek wanted him, with every flick of his tongue, and hollow groan from the beautiful man below him. Now Stiles was careening towards the edge, with no scrap of sanity to hold on to. 

Stile screamed as he came. 

Coming back from the whiteness, he found himself in Derek's arms, being carried to the bed. It was nice, gentle and caring, and for a moment, Stiles let himself pretend that this was real. He'd never had a real relationship; he was too busy for that and the papers would have a field day. No magazine could sell sexy if their top model was suddenly monogamous. No, he could never have that. He could only draw Derek to him, like a moth. 

As Derek laid him on the bed, still reverently, Stiles reached for him, running his hands down his chest to stop at the top of his pants. "Come on Derek, take me," he murmured, tugging lightly at the belt and smiling his most sensual smile at the man. 

Derek didn't ravish him like he expected. Instead, he ripped Stiles' hands from him and pinned them to the bed, on either side of his head. His eyes were dark and angry again, with that same rage as before, only this time it wasn't clouded by any lust. "Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I don't know what you're doing?"

Stiles blinked at him in shock. "I'm not doing anything. I just thought-"

"You thought what? That you could seduce me and I would do whatever you wanted me to? Do you think that I don't already? Do you think that I haven't given up everything in my life just to make sure that you keep smiling for the cameras?" Derek hissed at him, releasing one hand to roughly tilt his head to the side. 

"Do you think I don't know about this? Did you think you were the first to see? No of course not. You're too lost in your champagne and your fucking pills to see what the fuck is wrong with you. I saw those bruises weeks ago, on your back. Did you ever wonder why the make up artists suddenly felt the need to do whole body cover? Did you?!"

Stiles trembled under him. It couldn't be. This one was just a fluke, nothing real. It would heal and he would be beautiful again. "It's not true," he whispered, half to convince himself.

"Don't be an idiot Stiles, not more than you usually are. You've been killing yourself for weeks, fuck years even. And like an idiot, I've been following you around, switching your pills when I can, and doing my best to keep you from actually succeeding in killing yourself." He leaned in closer, his eyes clear for once, letting Stiles see the pain there. "I can't keep watching you do this to yourself Stiles. God, what the fuck is wrong with you? When was the last time you spoke to Scott? I know you spoke to your father a month ago, because I made you, but when did you last call your best friend? When?!"

Stiles winced as the yell washed over him. "A few... weeks..."

"Try a year ago Stiles. A year ago you talked to your best friend, and it was only for two minutes. God, will you just stop and think what you've done with your life?"

Sniffling, Stiles looked away, focusing on the ceiling behind Derek's head. "It's not all bad," he whispered. "They love me."

Derek shook his head, his eyes finally softening. "They love the idea of you. They love the image they can sell. They don't love you." He dropped his head, resting against his shoulder. When he spoke, his lips brushed the bruise, like a lover's kiss gone wrong. "They don't love you like I do."  
Stiles gasped and bit his lip, stifling back his tears. This is what he wanted, for Derek to love him and need him, but it was so much more. He remembered that last conversation with Scott, telling him how happy he was that Allison was pregnant. He vaguely remembered Derek telling him about a baby, but that was in Milan and he just didn’t have time for that. God, where had he gone? He swallowed and tilted his head until he was snuggled closer to Derek.

Derek had always been there for Stiles, helping him with him first contract, at only 16, and desperately nervous about everything. It was Derek who drove him to LA for his first audition, helping him fill out the paperwork and not miss his number when it as called. Derek, who flew to London and New York with him, letting Stiles sleep on his shoulder when shoots ran until the last minute. Derek was the one who bought him a tiny cupcake on his 18th birthday, when he was trapped in Paris and couldn’t find time for a real party.

It was Derek who was everything to Stiles, and he had just decided on a drunken whim to use him to stay at the top of the fashion work. Stiles couldn’t hold back his sobs any longer, tugging his hands from Derek’s hold to wrap them around his shoulders.

Derek hushed him, pulling him even closer, and protecting him with his entire body. Stiles couldn’t tell what he was protecting him from, the world outside or himself. He was almost sure that it was himself. “Hush Stiles,” he muttered. “Relax. Everything will be fine. Hey, look at me.” He leaned back and looked Stiles in the eye. “We are going to finish this trip here, as well as the ones we have planned. I will be in control of what you drink and we are going to the doctor tomorrow afternoon. When we have time, we will go home.” He kissed Stiles’ cheek gently. “We will see your father, You’ll play with Scott and Allison’s baby. And everything will be fine.”

Stiles only sobbed harder, but it was a little easier, with Derek’s hands rubbing his back. As he slowly drifted into sleep, Derek still warm on top of him, Stiles realized he had been right about one thing.

Derek did know how to fix everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
